Ruined Lives
by kalea87
Summary: An engaged couple is found dead, a college student is murdered, and Grissom starts to act more peculiar than usual.
1. Chapter 1

Ruined Lives

Disclaimer: I don't own anything… just having a bit of unprofitable fun.

AN: this story takes place a while ago; Greg's still in the lab, Grissom didn't leave... Thanks for reading, hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter One 

The dorm was oddly quiet. Most of the lights were out. No one could hear her when she screamed. She found the back stairs and tried to go down them to the second floor. She was too weak. Clinging desperately to the cold metal railing, she began to cry. Gathering her strength, she tightened her grip on the railing and screamed again. The call echoed throughout the stairwell, but no answer came. Her hands loosened around the railing. She couldn't hold on anymore. The door at the top of the stairs opened. The student there gasped at the blood, and then saw the girl, halfway down the stairwell, barely hanging on. The student called to the girl, who didn't respond. Her fingers loosened and there was a dull thud of her body tumbling down the stairs.

* * *

"Do we know anything yet?" Warrick asked Brass as he got out of his car and stared up at the looming dorm. 

"Not much. Quite a bit of blood, though. Student was killed. Someone slashed her up pretty well. Should be some good evidence up there. No one's touched anything."

"Good," said Nick, emerging from the other side of the car. "We wouldn't want any contamination."

"Especially not in a dorm. They're the cleanest places in the world," Warrick added sarcastically.

"I have a feeling you guys are bitter," Brass said.

"Let's just say Sara and Catherine got the good case," Nick said, gathering his things and heading for the door with Warrick not far behind.

There certainly was blood. The third floor hallway was covered in it; all the doors, the walls... Nick and Warrick looked around. There was silence.

Nick and Warrick glanced at each other. College dorms were never quiet. "I'll go talk to the police. See what's going on around here. You don't think they evacuated the whole dorm? There weren't many people outside."

"You never know," Nick said. "I guess I'll get to work on these..." Nick trailed off and looked down the hallway at the blood. "Why do Sara and Catherine get all the good cases?" he whined.

Warrick just shook his head and turned and descended the stairs to the ground floor to talk to the police. He walked right up to the first officer he saw.

"Warrick Brown. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Do you have any information for me?"

The officer shrugged. "No one was on the third floor except for him --" he motioned to a shaken student speaking with Brass "-- and there were only ten other students in the whole building. Granted, it's a small dorm..."

"Is there a party going on somewhere tonight?" Warrick asked.

"I don't know," the officer shrugged.

Warrick spotted the dorm bulletin board and examined the flyers. They were mostly extracurricular announcements -- sports, clubs, activities. There were also school newsletters, and various flyers selling odd items like bricks and fishing gear. Over to one side, a pink flyer stuck out. It read: "Party! Fun, games, entertainment, refreshments! Come one, come all! Bring your friends! Friday starting at 9pm!" The party was on the other side of campus, going on right now. A green flyer nearby read "Come dance the night away! Celebrate the Grand Opening of the newest dance club in town! 18 and over welcome, show ID at the door." Reading on, Warrick found that -- surprise, surprise -- the Grand Opening was tonight, too.

"I guess I've solved that little mystery," Warrick muttered to himself, removing the flyers from the bulletin board and slipping them into an envelope.

"Warrick!" Brass called, beckoning him over.

Warrick glanced at the young man Brass was obviously questioning and said, "I've got to go up and help Nick or we're going to be here --"

"Warrick, meet James Clifford. He discovered the body." James was obviously shaken, but offered his hand anyway.

"Warrick Brown," said Warrick, introducing himself.

"James here lives on the third floor. He didn't hear anything." Brass raised his eyebrow slightly.

"You didn't hear anything?"

"No. Like I said, I was wearing my headphones and studying. Big test tomorrow...today," James corrected, looking at the clock on the wall. It was past one.

"But you found the body?"

"I went out the back way to get something from the vending machines. The back stairs are right beside my room. The lights were off..." He looked away.

"Brass?"

"The body was on the stairs," Brass explained.

"No." James' voice was firm. "She was on the stairs. Pat..."

"Patricia Williams," Brass whispered to Warrick. "Victim."

"You mean she was alive?" Warrick asked James.

"She was hunched over the railing and her knuckles were white from holding on. The blood... I called out to her, but she didn't answer, and before I could move..." He took a shaky breath. "She fell. The sound..." He looked at the ground and shifted uncomfortably. "I ran down the stairs, but she didn't have a pulse and she wasn't breathing. I ran back upstairs and called 911, but..." He glanced at his bloodstained hands. "I tried to help her...If I had only..."

Warrick produced a swab and took a sample of the blood on James' hands. He looked up quickly, a bit panicked.

"I'm a suspect!" he cried.

"Everyone is," Warrick said matter-of-factly.

"Whatever happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

"Wouldn't you like to be proven innocent?" Warrick asked, putting the swab away.

"Yes..."

"Then cooperate and tell the truth, and you'll be cleared in no time." Warrick turned to Brass. "I've got to get back to the scene. Call me if you get anything." He started up the stairs.

* * *

"What do you think?" Sara asked Catherine. They had just entered the dingy apartment. A young man, Greg Didrickson, and his fiancé, Grace Wilder, were dead. Each died of a single gunshot wound, both were right between the eyes. They were seated in two easy chairs facing one another. Greg had a gun in his limp hand. There was a note in his shirt pocket. 

"I don't know what to think," Catherine answered with a sigh.

"What's the note say?"

Catherine carefully reached for the note, making sure that Sara had taken the appropriate pictures before she touched anything. The handwriting on the note was shaky and smeared. "Listen to this, Sara. It says, 'I'm sorry, Grace. I didn't mean it. I just can't take it anymore. I'm going to kill myself. I'm sorry. I love you.'"

"Very specific," Sara commented, moving into the next room while Catherine inspected the body. "Hey Catherine," she called from the kitchen, "there are some broken dishes in here. A struggle, maybe?" She came back into the living room and watched thoughtfully as the coroners removed the bodies. "There's something wrong," she said. "Something missing."

Catherine moved into the bedroom of the apartment. It was small, with a queen-sized bed centered on one wall, matching bedside tables and lamps on either side of it, and a rocking chair in one corner. The bedclothes were strewn around the room, mostly off the bed. Not even the fitted sheet remained on the mattress. There were crumpled pieces of paper sprinkled throughout the room. Catherine moved further into the room and turned on the light. On the floor, she discovered a small book with most of the pages haphazardly ripped out. Flipping to the front, she read _The Private Diary of Grace Louise Wilder, age 17. _

Sara came in, having finished investigating the kitchen and living room areas. "Whoa, what happened here?"

Catherine held up the book. "It's her diary. How old was she?"

"Twenty-six."

"She started this diary when she was 17." Catherine looked around the room at all the torn out pages. "I guess we'll have to read it."

* * *

Nick had just barely finished taking pictures when Warrick came back up. 

"What took you so long?"

"I was talking to the guy who found the body."

"Is he clean?" Nick asked.

"I don't know...he seems to be telling the truth, but his story..." Warrick sighed. "Well, what have you found?"

"It seems like the victim walked down the hallway using the wall for support. The blood on the wall is handprints and smears. It looks like she tried to open all the doors, but everything's locked except room 304. The murder seems to have taken place in that room. You want to take it? I'll get the stairs."

Warrick nodded and started down the hall. Room 310, directly across from the stairs, didn't have any blood on the door. The door of room 307 was covered in more blood than the others, and blood completely coated the doorknob. "Do you know which room was the victim's?" Warrick called to Nick, who had moved into the back stairwell.

"Brass is getting the names right now."

The door to room 304 was open. The bed closest to the door was rumpled and bloodstained. The blankets were on the floor. There were no signs of struggle in any other part of the room, only a bloody handprint on the desk beside the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The next day, Warrick and Nick were going over results from the lab. "The blood in the hallway, on the stairs, and in the room was all the victim's," Nick said. "The handprints on the wall were all hers, and so was the print on the desk. In the stairwell, there were a few prints that were James'."

"I got a layout of the dorm. It's upperclassmen only, four floors, ten rooms per floor. Guys have even-numbered rooms, girls have odd. There are stairs at either end of the hall. I have the list of students here…" Warrick shuffled through the papers. "Okay, the victim, Patricia Williams, was in 307 with Darcie McCohen. Room 304 is Clayton Mayor and Thomas Lierston. Brass is bringing them in now."

"There was a lot of blood on the door to 307. Makes sense, if it was her room. She was probably trying to get to a phone," Nick suggested.

"It was locked, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. Maybe she lost her key in the struggle."

"Who else was in the dorm? Officer on the scene told me only ten other students."

"Two were on the fourth floor, watching a movie, James was on the third floor, there were two people asleep on the second floor, and five were on the first floor, playing poker."

Warrick's pager went off, interrupting their speculations. "It's Brass."

* * *

In the autopsy room, David showed Catherine both victims. 

"Cause of death for woman was the gunshot wound to the head, as expected. Time of death was around ten o'clock –"

"There was a 911 call made at 10:04," Catherine interrupted.

David nodded. "She has a bruise here, on her upper arm. It's very recent. As for her fiancé, C.O.D. was the same and the time of death was very close. If you look at his wrists…"

"Ligature marks. He was tied up," Catherine said with surprise. "There wasn't any rope at the scene."

"Doesn't really make sense for a murder/suicide," David remarked. He looked up. "I sent the bullets to ballistics."

* * *

"Warrick," said Brass, "this is Darcie McCohen, Patricia Williams' best friend and roommate. And this is Sandra Thompson, another friend of Patricia." 

Warrick nodded and shock Sandra's hand, then Darcie's. Darcie's handshake was firm, and she looked straight into Warrick's eyes.

"Have you ever ruined anyone's life?"

Warrick, taken aback, just stood there, staring wide-eyed at the girl in front of him. Her eyes were red, betraying the fact that she had been crying, but her green eyes also held a determination and strength he had never seen in someone so young and seemingly innocent.

"I'll take that as a yes," Darcie said smoothly, pushing her short brown hair out of her eyes.

Sandra elbowed her. "Darcie!" she hissed. Sandra glanced up at Warrick, who was still a bit confused. "She always does that...when she meets a new guy..." Sandra shrugged. "It's just a thing she does."

"Okay..." said Warrick, not knowing how else to respond.

"Whose?" Darcie asked in a calm voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Whose life did you ruin?"

"I can't believe you're doing this, Darcie! He's a _cop!"_ Sandra hissed to her friend.

Warrick looked at Darcie carefully, considering his answer. "I guess I've ruined a lot of lives."

Brass looked at him sideways, curious.

"Really?" Darcie asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm a criminalist. I send criminals to jail."

"I see." Darcie easily hid her emotions behind a blank face, and Warrick had no idea what she was thinking. "Are you going to find out who killed Pat?"

The sudden change of subject surprised them all. "We're doing everything we can," Warrick assured her.

"Good."

"Do you know who would want to kill Patricia?"

"Pat. Patricia's too weird. No one calls her that," Darcie informed Warrick in a no-nonsense voice.

"All right. Do you know who would want to kill Pat?"

"No one. She was too nice," Sandra said. "She didn't have any enemies at all."

"Of course," Darcie said darkly, "there are people who would kill her."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"What do you mean, 'there are people who would kill her'?" Warrick asked, perplexed. "You just said no one would want to kill her!"

"Well," Darcie said quietly, "he probably didn't _mean_ to kill her."

Warrick raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Her boyfriend…he's a bit…abusive."

"She was going to leave him. Maybe," Sandra added.

"She was! He probably got mad. She was going to talk to him tonight."

"What?! When did she say that?"

"While I was getting dressed. I offered to stay, but she didn't want us to."

"Who's her boyfriend?" The friends stopped arguing and looked at Warrick.

"Chase." Darcie shrugged. "He lives on the third floor."

"Chase who?"

"McDowell… or Germain… or Smith…"

"We don't really know," Sandra confessed.

"All right," Warrick said skeptically.

"You don't believe us!" Darcie cried.

"No, I don't. Lying is a practiced art. I've seen a lot of it around here."

Darcie sat back and glared. "Fine. I'm leaving. Good-bye, Warrick Brown. Don't ruin

any more lives." She stood up and left the room.

Sandra blushed slightly. "Sorry. I better follow her." And she did.

"Interesting," Brass said.

"I'd have to agree with you there," Warrick said, watching the girls go.

* * *

"They were such a cute couple," Susan Miller smiled sadly. Susan had been Greg's neighbor and Grace's friend. "Greg was a gentleman, opening doors for Grace, things like that. I just can't believe this would happen to them." 

"You had no reason to suspect that they were having problems?" asked Catherine.

Susan sighed. "They've been having some problems the last few weeks. Grace didn't get along with her family. Greg wanted to meet them and have them at the wedding, of course, but Grace hadn't spoken to them in years. Greg kept pestering her about it, so she finally called her parents a few weeks ago. Grace and her mother had a fight over the phone, and then I heard Grace and Greg fighting one night. Grace told me that Greg later admitted he was wrong and thanked her for trying. They were fine when I talked to Grace on Thursday."

"Do you know why Grace didn't get along with her family?"

"You know, she never did say. She didn't like to talk about her past."

"What did you hear Friday night?" Sara asked.

"Well, around nine or so, I heard Greg and Grace fighting again. It sounded pretty serious, but it didn't last long. I heard their door slam about five minutes after the arguing had started. Later, I heard Grace fighting with another woman. I assumed it to be her mother, but I really have no idea. It was quiet for a while, and then I heard a gunshot! I called the police right away, and they said they would send someone and told me to stay in my apartment. About a half hour later, I heard someone in the hall, and I thought it was the police, but then I heard another gunshot. I called the police again, but…" Susan sniffled. "I just don't…"

"Did either of them have any enemies that you know of?" Catherine asked quietly.

Susan wrinkled her forehead, thinking. "I can't imagine that either of them do, but I don't know for sure."

* * *

"Hey, Grissom," Nick called down the hallway. "I heard you're joining us on this dorm case?" 

Grissom nodded. "Any leads?"

"A possible abusive boyfriend. I'm going to the autopsy now; you're welcome to come." Nick filled Grissom in on the details of the case as they walked. When they arrived, Doc Robbins was waiting for them.

"Grissom," Robbins greeted, "how was your leadership conference?"

Inspecting the body, Grissom answered distractedly, "Well-led."

Robbins chuckled and shook his head. He approached the autopsy table and began. "Victim is 20-year-old female Patricia Williams, a college junior. Cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head from her fall down the stairs. Here you can see the imprint from the pattern on the stairs. There are lacerations covering the victim's abdomen – she would have died of blood loss if she didn't get medical attention very soon. The victim was also raped – no semen, but she put up a fight; there's skin under her nails."

Nick collected a sample. "Thanks, I'll get this to the lab. Brass is interviewing the other students who live on the victim's floor, Grissom. I'll see you there."

"The victim has some old bruises on her arms," Robbins said. "It looks like she was grabbed."

Grissom examined the bruises. "Her friends said she was in an abusive relationship."

"Here's the evidence."

* * *

"The bullets came from different guns," Sara told Catherine. "Greg Didrickson was shot by the gun in his hand; it's his gun, registered to him." 

"But there was no GSR on his hand," Catherine reminded her.

Sara took out photographs of the scene and examined them. The man was sitting up in the chair, his right hand in his lap, fingers loosely clasped around a gun. "If he shot himself, the force would have pushed his hand away from his head. He probably would have dropped the gun."

"So this was definitely murder. But what suspects do we have?"

"The fingerprints we found were identified as the decedents', the apartment manager's, and the neighbor Susan's. There was only one set of unidentified prints. No hits on AFIS."

"It's probably the woman that was heard fighting with Grace."

* * *

"Mr. Mayor. Mr. Lierston. You expect me to believe that someone broke into your room, raped a girl in _your _bed, Mr. Mayor, then slashed her up and left her to die and you don't know anything about it?" 

Clayton Mayor, a tall blonde athlete, shrank down into his chair. "Yes, sir. We don't know anything about it, sir."

"Look," Thomas Lierston began, frustrated, "we've told you. We were at the party in Bendston all night! When we got back, the police weren't letting anyone in the dorm. We were together all night. Neither of us killed Pat!"

Grissom entered and nodded to Brass. "If that's true," Grissom addressed the young men, "then I'm sure you wouldn't mind giving us a sample of your DNA?"

"What? Why?" Thomas asked.

"If you give us a sample of your DNA, we can clear you as suspects."

"Or we can wait and get a warrant," Brass added. "Your choice."

Both men volunteered their DNA, and Nick was on his way to the lab to get it compared to the skin cells collected from the victim's fingernails. Brass and Grissom watched as a police officer brought Patricia's boyfriend and his friends in for questioning. The three sat carefully, cringing when the door slammed shut. One rested his face in his hands; another rubbed his red-rimmed eyes.

"They look like hell," Brass said. "It must have been some party."

"Chase… Smith, is it?" Brass asked the dark-haired boy seated between his friends. "You were Patricia Williams' boyfriend, is that correct?"

"Yeah," Chase said, closing his eyes and running his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I was Pat's boyfriend."

"And where were you last night?"

"Eli and Carl" – Chase motioned to his friends – "and I went to the party at Bendston. We left our dorm around eight and hit the dining hall first."

"When did you get back?"

There was a pause, and the boys shifted in their seats. Eli spoke up first. "Chase, er… had too much to drink. We brought him back to the dorm at around eleven, I guess."

"And you two?"

"We didn't get back to the dorm until this morning, man. They barely even let us in."

"Our room's just on the first floor," Carl supplied.

"When was the last time you saw Pat, Mr.…Smith?"

"Uh, I guess it was yesterday morning in the hall. We had a fight last week; we weren't really speaking much."

"A fight, huh?" Brass leaned down and held Chase's gaze. "How hard did you hit her this time?"

"What?! I don't – I didn't…You can't –" Chase sputtered.

"I guess it must've been the bruises on arms. Pretty smart, not hitting her face. Bruises on her face would be too noticeable, right?" Chase just stared, open mouthed. Brass looked at Eli and Carl. "What about you two? Did you know about this?"

Eli examined his fingernails and Carl studied the ceiling tiles.

"Right then. Mr. Smith, you are excused." Brass motioned to the guard who opened the door. "I'll just have a chat with your pals here," Brass said, as he waved good-bye to Chase.

Chase eyed his friends with concern as he was led from the room. Eli and Carl looked like they wanted to melt right into the floor.

"So, boys, either of you care to tell me the truth about our friend Chase? What happened last night?"

"It's just like Chase said," Carl began. "We went to dinner, then took off for that party."

"What happened at the party?"

"Not much. Chase got totally plastered. When he couldn't stand up on his own, we decided to take him back to his room."

"Around eleven?"

"Yeah, I think."

"Did either of you see Pat or anything suspicious?"

"Nah. Pat's room is on the third floor anyway. Chase's is on the second."

"Mmm… Now, what is Chase's last name?"

Confusion spread across Eli's face. He glanced at Carl. A palpable silence filled the room as the friends communicated with their eyes.

"Smith."

"Germain."

The responses came at the same instant, and the boys looked at each other with wide eyes.

"There seems to be a bit of confusion here," Brass commented. "Does your pal Chase go by any other names?"

"McDowell," Eli responded, in barely more than a whisper.

"I'd say the boyfriend is our best suspect right now. I mean, he's abusive and when she goes to confront him, he's drunk. And this business with three last names?" Warrick said as he refilled his coffee cup in the break room.

"But the murder – the attack, I guess I should say – happened in room 304. Chase was on the second floor, and if he was in as bad a shape as his friends say, how would he get up there?" Nick's pager beeped. "It's the lab. Maybe they have something on the DNA from those guys in room 304."

Grissom was walking down the hallway, thoroughly absorbed in the file he held in his hand, when he ran into Brass. Brass was escorting Darcie through the halls and, after a murmured apology from Grissom, Brass made introductions.

"Darcie, this is Gil Grissom, the supervisor working on the case. Gil, Darcie McCohen, Pat's roommate."

"Nice to meet you," Darcie said automatically. Reaching out her hand, she asked, "Have you ever ruined anyone's life?"

Grissom just stared at Darcie and made no move to shake her outstretched hand.

"Um, hello? Mr. Grissom?" Turning to Brass, Darcie asked, "Does he do this a lot?"

Brass gave her a small smile. "He's a great CSI. Gil? You okay?"

"McCohen, you said?" asked Grissom, still staring at Darcie.

"Yeah," Darcie answered. "Jeez, don't freak out on me. Whose life did you ruin, anyway? I haven't gotten a reaction like that in a long time."

"You said you had something for us, Miss McCohen?" Brass said, leading Darcie away from Grissom, who remained in the hallway for several minutes, staring at a blank wall.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four 

Catherine worked diligently to reassemble the victim's diary. She smoothed pages and matched pieces. The most difficult part was putting the pages in the correct order. Each entry was dated, and Catherine discovered that Grace Wilder had continued writing in her diary in fits and bursts. The last entry was dated only three weeks ago.

After countless, monotonous hours, Catherine finally had the diary back together. She called Sara in. "Great job," Sara complimented. "Is it all readable?"

"Almost all of it," Catherine said. "The first entry is a month after her seventeenth birthday. Listen:

_'Mom told me she gave me a diary because she had one when she was a teenager, but it's really because she thinks I'm in trouble. A distressed teen just crying out for acceptance, or whatever. Parents. Christ._

_'Ha. Look at that, Dad, I just took the Lord's name in vain! I was grounded for a month the last time I did that. Being the daughter of a Catholic priest is something like hell on earth, I've come to believe. No one invites me to anything anymore because my parents always call the host's parents to make sure nothing 'sinful' will be going on. Can you imagine how mortifying that is?_

_'Mom and I had a 'talk' last week. She said that being a teenager is all about finding yourself, and it can be very difficult, and she was there for me. What a load of crap. I think I have found myself, and if I have, I'm in more trouble than ever, especially with my parents._

_'I've never told anyone this. I've never written it down. It's been my secret for almost a year now, and I'm tired of it. I want to – no, I need to tell someone._

_'I think I'm gay.'"

* * *

_

"Listen," Darcie began, "Chase is a bad guy, and he should be punished for what he did to Pat. He abused her for months – physically and emotionally. But maybe he didn't kill her. I mean, the evidence doesn't point to him, does it?

She paused, formulating her thoughts. Brass suddenly had the strange sensation that he knew her from somewhere, but he shook it off as she began to speak again.

"The fact that Chase uses three different last names pretty much interchangeably is suspicious, but it's just because of his family situation. His dad's last name is Germain, so that's his legal name, but his dad left when he was little, so he started using his mom's name, McDowell. Then his mom, who was a drug addict, was arrested and he was sent to live with his grandmother, whose last name is Smith. Now he basically uses the three names to whatever advantage he can, but I don't think it has anything to do with Pat's murder.

"Chase got drunk at that party; everyone I've talked to says so. I believe it. I mean, drinking was his favorite extracurricular activity. I've seen him drunk and there's no way he would've been coherent enough to get Pat back up to the third floor, let alone find someone else's room to…" Darcie took a deep breath and steadied herself. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. "One of the kids in our dorm is missing. No one's seen him since that night. Maybe he was killed too, or maybe he killed Pat. His name's Joel, room 302. He doesn't really have any friends, but – God, how cliché does this sound? – he seemed nice."

"Thanks for telling us," Brass said.

"Yeah, well… I didn't mean to imply you guys couldn't do your jobs. I mean, Joel's disappearance was reported to the police. I just thought… this way it wouldn't be overlooked. Alright?"

* * *

"So our victim is a lesbian engaged to a man? Or was she bisexual? Or –" 

"Just wait. She goes on to talk about this huge crush she has on a girl in her biology class, Samantha." Catherine scanned the entries. "I hope I didn't sound this love-sick as a teenager… Okay, here's what I was looking for. Samantha and Grace started dating after junior prom. They had both gone alone and went to the same party afterwards. Grace was grounded for three months when her parents found out she had gone to a party."

"Harsh."

"Alright, here it is:

_'I'm so deliriously happy when I'm with Sam. She loves me for me and I don't have to pretend when I'm with her. We went to the movies this weekend and saw the worst horror movie ever made! We had collapsed into giggles within fifteen minutes. After the movie, when we were walking to our cars, Sam kissed me. For that moment, everything was right in the world.'"_

Catherine flipped past a few pages. "Two weeks later, she wrote:

_'Sam met my parents today. They adore her, but they think she's my study partner for biology. Graduation is only three weeks away and I'm going to tell them then. Sam and I are going to get an apartment together, so I won't need them anymore.'_

"Two days before graduation:

_'Sam and I have been too careless. We stole kisses in the movies, on the bus, and in the bathroom at school. Today, Lisa, the most popular girl in school, saw us kissing in the bathroom. She screamed bloody murder and ran out. By tomorrow, everyone at school will know.'_

"Sam and Grace were harassed almost constantly until graduation," Catherine said. "After graduation, Grace told her parents.

_'I don't know what I expected from them. I knew it wasn't going to be good, but this… this is more horrible than anything the kids at school have done to us. Mom almost fainted when I told her Sam was my girlfriend. My father immediately began a sermon about how homosexuality is a sin and the devil has taken a hold of me. He said unless I renounce my evil ways and pray for forgiveness I will go straight to hell. I told them that we're in love, and they looked like they were about to die of horror. Mom screamed, "Get out of my sight, you filthy whore! I never want to see you in this house again!" So I left. I'm at Sam's house. Her parents know and they aren't exactly happy about it, but they're trying to understand._

_'What am I going to do?'_

"Grace and Sam lived together for two years after that. Sam went to college part-time and Grace worked. Grace was jealous that Sam got to go to college and she didn't, and they started fighting. Grace wanted to be normal and have a family, so she ended up breaking up with Sam.

Grace met Greg at a community college a few months later. They dated for a year before he proposed. Grace wrote:

_'Greg is such a sweet guy and I know that he really loves me. Maybe someday I'll love him too. I know he deserves to be with someone who loves him. Why do I have to be this way? I just want to be happy. Is that really too much to ask? I feel so guilty accepting Greg's proposal.'_

Later, she wrote:

_'The wedding plans are coming along wonderfully. Everything's perfect, except that Greg wants to meet my family. I called home today, and Gertie answered. My little sister. God, she's seventeen now. I almost cried just hearing her voice. Mom came to the phone, but once I told her who it was, she started screaming about my sins and God's way and said that I am no longer part of her family.'

* * *

_

Darcie was sitting in the reception area, glaring across the room at Eli, one of Chase's best friends. Eli had slouched so far down in his seat that Nick thought he would fall onto the floor at any moment.

"Darcie, Eli. Come with me," Nick said. He had called them both down to the station personally.

Nick led them to Grissom's office and motioned for them to sit down. "Thanks for coming," he said. "I know you guys aren't friends, but I was hoping you would be willing to work together."

Darcie shot an incredulous look towards Nick, but held her tongue.

"Chase's abuse is a very serious crime. Now, we don't have any hard evidence to prosecute with, but witnesses –"

"I'll do it," Darcie said, cutting Nick off. "So will Eli."

"But I –" Eli began

_"So will Eli," _Darcie almost growled, and Eli nodded.

"Alright, good," Nick said. "Now, if you have a few minutes to meet with some lawyers…" And they began to build a case against Chase.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Well," Sara said, flipping through Grace Wilder's diary. "It looks like her fiancé found her diary and discovered the truth – his fiancé was a lesbian."

"Understandably, he was upset. His fingerprints were the only ones other than Grace's on the diary. He ripped it up… They probably had a fight, maybe the one the neighbor heard around nine? One of them left the apartment – probably Greg – and later the neighbor hears Grace arguing with a woman."

"Her mother? Her little sister? Her…"

"Girlfriend?"

* * *

Grissom and Warrick had returned to the dorm in search of more evidence. It was mostly empty – most people had classes at this hour of the morning – but it hadn't been closed. The dorm supervisor informed them that several students had gone home, frightened by the violent crime that had occurred in their building. The Dean had added more security and the student government was busily searching for a way to restore a sense of security in the on-campus housing.

The lab results had showed that Clayton Mayor and Thomas Liersten, room 304 where the murder took place, were probably clean. Their DNA did not match the skin cells found under the victim's nails. Nick was working on a warrant for the boyfriend's DNA on grounds of previous physical abuse.

Grissom and Warrick first went over room 304, the only room closed off with crime scene tape, but found nothing new.

"Alright," said Warrick. "Let's check out room 302. It's Joel Barnart's, the kid who's missing," he added, reading the information Brass had given him. "He doesn't have a roommate; first semester an international student on study abroad was living there, but now it's just him."

Room 302 was next door to 304, and they gained entrance with a master key the university had given them.

"Seems like a studious guy," Warrick commented, surveying the room. The walls were bare of the usual posters, artwork, or photos. The far side of the room was completely bare, lacking an occupant. The desk closer to the door was completely covered in books of every type, from Organic Chemistry to Ancient Greek. Various notebooks were open, revealing highlighted and circled notes. The bed was made, covered in a dull grey comforter. On the bookshelf over the desk, on top of _The Modern History of Europe _were two red plastic cups, one still half-full of a brown liquid. Warrick picked it up carefully and took a cautious sniff.

"Could be root beer," he guessed, and, glancing at the nearby trashcan, found an empty two liter bottle from store-brand root beer. "If this kid was such a loner, who was he having a drink with?" Warrick commented as he began to dust for prints.

Grissom was meticulously examining the young man's toiletries. He bagged the toothbrush and some hairs from the comb for a DNA sample.

"Grissom, this could be our guy," Warrick said. "He probably wasn't kidnapped – there aren't any signs of a struggle. And Joel doesn't appear to be the type of student to miss a big deadline for an extended weekend romp with his girlfriend." Warrick held up Barnart's planner, which had a lab report listed as due the day before.

"True," Grissom replied, "but it's also possible he's a second victim. If he was a witness, perhaps the rapist killed him as well."

"And his body?" Warrick paused, thinking. "There's a dumpster out back. Do you want to check it out?"

"You go ahead," said Grissom. "I want to check the victim's room before we go."

* * *

Catherine flipped her cell phone closed. "That was David," she told Sara, who was fixing herself coffee. "He said he found a trace of lipstick on our victim's cheek."

"So the wife kissed her husband. So what?" Sara replied distractedly.

"It's on the _wife's _cheek. He says it's a shade of orange, and the wife came in with pink."

"Alright…" Sara began, "The woman she was fighting with, then."

"I located her parents," said Catherine. "They live about an hour outside of Vegas."

"Have they been notified?"

"I don't think so. They disowned her and she hadn't had any contact with them whatsoever –

except that one phone call."

"The mother's looking like a pretty good suspect right now," said Sara.

"If the mom is as strictly Catholic as Grace's diary makes her out to be, would she be capable of killing her own daughter? Murder is a sin; the Sixth Commandment: 'Thou shalt not kill.'"

"Well, religious zealots always seem to find a way of bending the Bible to fit their needs."

Catherine sighed, shuffling through the case's paperwork. "I'll call the parents, see if they've had any contact with her other than that phone call."

* * *

Grissom knocked on the door of room 307. Darcie McCohen, the victim's roommate, was living in the dorm again, but she didn't answer his knock.

Unlocking the door, Grissom stepped quietly into the room and flicked on the light. Posters of all kinds covered the walls: movie posters, landscapes, singers, reproductions of famous artwork… There was a large and pattern-less collection of DVD's and CD's stacked in a space-saving, college-dorm way. Both desks in the room were covered with textbooks and notebooks and folders. Pat, the victim, had been a history major; her desk was easily recognizable by a quantity of library books detailing the life of Marco Polo, explorer.

Grissom stepped towards her desk, but a picture frame on the opposite desk caught his eye. Turning, he picked up the frame and studied the image closely.

It was Darcie and a woman who bore such a strong resemblance to Darcie that there was not doubt she was the girl's mother. They were sitting together, laughing, with ice cream cones in hand. In the background, Grissom could just make out the sign on the storefront: "Bob's Beach Bum Palace – the creamiest, dreamiest, ice cream on the coast!"

A strange look flittered across Grissom's features.

"Hey, Grissom." Nick's entrance startled the man, and he hurriedly replaced the photograph. "Warrick told me you were up here. I just got the warrant for the boyfriend's DNA; it's on its way to the lab now." He paused and looked at his supervisor a moment, causing Grissom to fidget under the scrutiny.

"You okay, Grissom?"

"Fine," Grissom answered stiffly as he opened his kit.

Nick took in the room another minute before saying: "That's not the victim's desk, is it?"

Grissom grunted in answer, crossed the room, and began examining the victim's things.

Nick glanced at the picture Grissom had been examining, shrugged to himself, and looked around the rest of the room.

After some 15 minutes of searching, they had only come up with schoolwork and some bank statements.

"What are we even looking for?" Nick muttered, frustrated.

"How about looking for an exit?" snapped a voice from the doorway. Nick turned to see Darcie, back from class and surprised to find her room occupied. Nick glanced at Grissom, but he was just staring at the girl and it didn't seem like he was going to speak up any time soon.

"Sorry to disturb you, miss," Nick began. "We were given permission to search the dorms for evidence that may be of use to us in the Patricia Williams case."

"And have you found anything?" Darcie inquired.

"In this room, no ma'am."

"Mm-hm." Darcie stepped into the room and deposited her things on her bed. "Have you almost finished?"

"I think so," Nick said, glancing at Grissom for confirmation, but Grissom continued to watch Darcie mutely and Nick doubted that Grissom was even aware of his existence in the room.

"Mr. Grissom? Mr. Gris-som?" Darcie called in a sing-song voice. Grissom frowned but said nothing. Darcie rolled her eyes and pushed her hair back.

"You're Mr. Stokes, right?" she asked, directing her attention to Nick. At his nod, she continued, "I really can't think of anything in this room that would be of use to you in solving Pat's murder." She paused. "Wait… would this help?" Darcie reached under her roommate's mattress and produced a small book.

"It's Pat's diary," she supplied. "Not an incredibly original hiding place, I know, but, hey, you didn't find it."

Nick took the book and flipped through its pages. It was almost full, the pages covered in small, neat script.

"It starts at the beginning of sophomore year – last year, that is. I doubt if it will tell you who her killer is, but I know she wrote about Chase."

"Thank you," said Nick, putting the diary in an evidence bag. "If you think of anything else, let us know. Come on, Grissom, let's see how Warrick's doing."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Around the back of the dorm building, Warrick was searching through the dumpster. Luckily, it hadn't been emptied since the night of the murder.

"Luckily," he muttered sarcastically, pawing through the mounds of garbage.

"Hey, man, anything interesting?" Nick called as he approached with Grissom.

"Interesting, yes. Helpful, no," Warrick said, hold up what appeared to be a very uncomfortable pink leather thong.

Nick laughed. "I suppose you'd like a hand?"

"You have to ask?"

An unusually long hour later, Warrick called out, "I think I've got something!" He held up a pair of blue jeans stained with blood. After carefully handing them to Nick, he dug a bit more before: "Now we're talking!" It was a bloodstained white t-shirt.

"Let's finish up here and get back to the lab," said Nick. "We've got some serious evidence to process."

* * *

Catherine finally found Sara, talking to Grissom in the break room. 

"Sorry to interrupt, guys," she said, approaching them. "I just got off the phone with the parents," she told Sara. "They deny seeing Grace or talking to her after she called. They're coming in to see the body," she added.

"But they haven't seen their daughter in eight years!" Sara exclaimed.

"They don't have to ID her; the neighbor did that. They said they just… want to see her." Catherine shrugged and shook her head. "I don't understand how parents can completely abandon their child like that."

"You don't know the circumstances!" Grissom burst out. "Their reasoning could be very legitimate!"

Shooting Sara a puzzled look, Catherine answered, "Uh, sure, Gil. I can't imagine leaving Lindsay, that's all."

* * *

"Nick!" Greg called, sticking his head out of the lab door. "I've got results for your case," he said, waving the other man over. 

"Alright," said Greg, spinning his chair to grab the reports. "First we have the blood on the clothes from the dumpster – it's a match to the victim's." Shuffling through the papers, Greg handed Nick the corresponding report. "Next… the DNA from the skin found under the vic's nails is _not _a match to the boyfriend. It's a match to one… Joel Barnart, the missing kid."

"Looks like we're got our guy," Nick smiled.

"And that's not all," Greg said. "On one of the cups from the kid's room, Warrick found the victim's prints and in the same cup I found traces of the date-rape drug found in her system."

"Man, you're awesome."

"And I'm still not done!" Greg said, smiling. He spun across the room in his chair and plucked a page out of the printer. He glanced at it, smiled, and handed it to Nick. "I took the liberty of testing DNA from the sweat found inside the bloody clothes. It's a match to Joel Barnart."

"Greg," Nick said, "you rock. This evidence is pretty much unshakable."

"Thank you, thank you," said Greg.

"Now if we can just find the guy…"

* * *

"Hey Catherine," Sara called, "check this out. I pulled the victim's phone records. Her parents were lying – they called Grace about a week after she called them." 

Catherine studied the paper a few minutes. "What about this number? They called… six times."

"And it's the same area code as the parents, I know. I'm all over it."

"The parents should be here soon. Why don't we bring in the neighbor to see if she can identify the voice from the argument? Basically worthless in court, but it could give us something to go on."

* * *

Warrick and Grissom were back on the campus with Brass, who had been investigating Joel Barnart's disappearance. 

"He signed into the library at 11:50 that night," explained Brass.

"Right after the murder," Warrick muttered.

"It's the last place we know he was. He signed out at 11:56."

"Not a whole lot of studying can be done in six minutes."

"Nope," Brass agreed as the three men stepped into the quiet, cavernous library. Brass approached the woman behind the information desk. She appeared to be a grad student and was checking in book when they came up.

"Sure, I know Joel," she said, handing back the photo. "He's in here all the time."

"Were you working the night of the murder?"

"Um… yes, yes I was. Joel came in and he was distracted. The library closes at midnight, so I almost didn't let him in so late, but he said he just had to grab one thing. But now that I think abou tit," she frowned, "he didn't check anything out."

"Do you know what he was studying?" Grissom asked.

"Oh, lots of things. Recently, he's been into ancient Greece."

"Would you mind if we look around?" Brass asked.

Something seemed to click in the girl's mind. "You think Joel killed that girl?" she asked in a low voice.

Brass just looked at her.

She sighed. "The library's open to the public. Just sign in."

* * *

Grace Wilder's parents looked extremely uncomfortable waiting in the morgue. The father stared at the floor and the mother fidgeted with a gold necklace. Their younger daughter was also there, wearing a flowered skirt that was too childish for her. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Wilder?" Catherine asked. The mother nodded. "Come with me," Catherine said in a soft voice.

Sara and Susan Miller, Grace's neighbor, were in the hallway. Susan approached, introduced herself, and offered her sympathies. The Wilders thanked her and continued down the hallway.

Susan returned to Sara's side. "Their voices are nothing like the one I heard that day."

* * *

Darcie McCohen sat in the waiting area, a folder on her lap. Nick had called her down to work on the case against Chase and had requested schoolwork with Pat's handwriting to prove the diary was hers. 

"Darcie, thanks for coming," Nick greeted her.

As Darcie stood up, another woman let out a shriek. "Oh! Look at that spider!" she cried, pointing under the chair across from her.

Darcie crossed the room and bent to look at the offending creature. She moved to pick it up in her hand; the woman gasped and Nick said, "You'd better not. It could be poisonous."

Nick saw Grissom down the hall and waved him over for help with the spider – Grissom knew a lot about bugs.

"Oh, don't be silly," Darcie said, scooping up the spider. "It's just a wolf spider. Look." She opened her hands enough to allow Nick and Grissom to see. "It looks similar to a brown recluse – those _are _dangerous – but this guy's okay."

Nick glanced nervously at Grissom, who nodded to confirm what the girl had said, a proud little smile on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven 

Brass approached the door to the lab and glanced inside. Grissom sat quietly, reviewing paperwork.

"Just the man I was looking for," Brass said. "Do you have a result on the knife yet?"

In the university library, Grissom had found a pocket knife carefully tucked behind some of the most complex volumes about ancient Greece. The knife had dried blood in the joint, and Greg was testing it against the victim's.

Grissom nodded. "Greg paged me a few minutes ago, but I don't know where he's gone off to."

As if on cue, Greg's laugh was heard from the hallway. "There he is," said Brass, sticking his head out the door. "Greg!" he called, motioning for the younger man to come.

Grissom joined Brass in the doorway and saw Darcie McCohen engaged in an animated conversation with Greg. "Well, well," muttered Brass, "Cute couple, no?" He smiled at Grissom, but Grisoom didn't return the gesture. He watched the couple with concern.

"Greg!"

The young man finally excused himself and walked to the lab, a little skip in his step. "Pretty girl," commented Brass.

"Smart, too," said Greg, smiling. "She's a bio major and she really knows her stuff. Slam dunk on the knife," he continued, handing a print-out to Brass. "Victim's blood."

"Great. Looks like we've got this guy," said Brass.

Grissom sat silently, fuming.

* * *

Warrick was just pouring himself a cup of entirely too strong coffee when Nick walked into the break room. 

"Info on Joel Barnart's credit cards just came through," Nick announced. "And check this out: he bought a plane ticket to New York the morning after the murder."

"We've got him," smiled Warrick.

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Wilder," said Catherine, "I'm sorry to disturb you. I just have a quick question." 

Grace's parents looked at each other and nodded.

"You told us you had no contact with your daughter except when she called you about three weeks before her death."

"That's right," said Mr. Wilder, looking confused.

"Mrs. Wilder?" Catherine turned towards her.

The woman nodded in agreement.

"Well," Catherine began, "your phone records say otherwise. Someone at your phone number called Grace a week after she called you."

"But… that's impossible!" murmured Mrs. Wilder. "We didn't…"

Catherine looked at Grace's younger sister. "Gertie?"

"Don't be absurd!" her father said.

Gertie looked at the ground, fidgeting.

"Mr. Wilder," Catherine explained calmly, "someone made a call from your home. If it wasn't you, and it wasn't your wife, that leaves your daughter."

"Well, Gertie?" demanded Mrs. Wilder.

Gertie shot a glance at her parents, then focused on Catherine and took a deep breath. "I called her. It was me."

"Gertie! Why would you –"

Catherine motioned for them to be quiet. "Let her explain."

"I just wanted to talk to her," Gertie said, "I mean, she _is _my sister! My parents told me she hated us and she ran away, but they never wanted to talk about it. And then she called! And I didn't even know it was my sister, you know? How terrible is that? Mom started yelling at her and I knew they wouldn't work anything out, but I just wanted… I wanted to know her. My big sister. What's wrong with that?" Gertie's eyes shone with tears.

"What did you talk about?" Catherine asked gently.

"Nothing. She wasn't home. I talked to her fiancé. He seemed really nice." She paused. "I didn't say who I was."

* * *

Catherine found Sara studying some printouts. "I just finished talking to the family," Catherine said. "I think we can rule them out. The daughter was the one who made the call; she wanted to get to know her sister. Her parents kept her pretty in the dark about it, so that's understandable. And I get the feeling that the parents were more embarrassed-angry than homicidal-angry." 

Sara nodded her agreement. "And check this out – the other phone number from that area code, the one that called six times: it's registered to Samantha Kesler."

"Grace's ex."

* * *

"I got a hold of Barnart's parents," Brass said. "They haven't heard from him in a while, but that's not unusual. The college called about his disappearance and they were going to come to try and find him." 

Nick nodded.

"Did you ask about New York?" said Warrick.

"Yeah," Brass answered. "His mom's sister lives there. NYPD is on the way to her place now."

* * *

Samantha Kesler was touching up her orange lipstick as Sara came in. 

"What's this about?" she demanded.

"I'm sure the officers explained to you, Mrs. Kesler –"

"Miss."

"I'm sorry, _Miss _Kesler, that one of your acquaintances has been killed and we're hoping you could help our investigation."

"They told me. They just wouldn't tell me _who's _been killed."

"Grace Wilder."

There was a pause and Samantha tucked her hair behind an ear. "What, are you calling in her entire high school class? I haven't seen her since then."

Sara leaned forward. "You lived together for two years."

Samantha stiffened. "That doesn't mean I know anything about her murder."

Just then, Catherine came in, introduced herself, and offered the two women coffee. Samantha took a drink, then declared, "I haven't seen Grace in years. We weren't on speaking terms. I'm sorry to hear about her death, but I can't help you."

Sara and Catherine glanced at each other.

"May I go?" Samantha asked.

"Of course," said Catherine. "Thank you for your time."

* * *

"I can't believe people actually wear that shade of lipstick. It's terrifying," Catherine declared. 

"Well, it sure looks like the lipstick found on Grace," said Sara, "although that won't prove anything."

"No," Catherine agreed, picking up Samantha's coffee cup with a gloved hand. "But her fingerprints might."


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: the last chapter! (very exciting) This story didn't quite go as I expected, but I've finally got an ending I like. Hope you enjoy; please review!

* * *

Chapter Eight**

Grissom sat quietly in his office, sipping coffee and staring at an old photograph. Nick came in, startling him, and Grissom pushed the picture under some papers so it was partially hidden.

Nick smiled at the older man. "I just got off the phone with Brass. NYPD found Joel Barnart at his aunt's place. He told her he'd had a fight with his parents, and asked her not to call them for a few days."

Grissom didn't respond.

"With the DNA evidence against him, he'll be convicted," Nick said.

Grissom nodded vaguely. "Good work," he mumbled.

"Grissom… are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Grissom replied, waving a hand as if to brush the comment away, but only succeeding in knocking over his coffee mug.

Nick leaped forward to help, grabbing the papers on the desk to save them from the spreading pool. As he set the papers down to help Grissom mop up the mess, the picture Grissom had been so carefully studying slid out. Nick picked it up.

It was a picture of a couple, with ice cream cones in hand, smiling at each other. The man in the photo, Nick noted with surprise, was Grissom, much younger, and looking happier than Nick had ever seen him. The woman had long, wavy brown hair and she bore a strong resemblance to Darcie McCohen.

* * *

"Samantha's fingerprints were a match to prints found at Grace's apartment," Catherine told Sara. "We got a warrant; I just came back from her apartment."

"Great," Sara said. "Did you find anything?"

"A gun. It's unregistered, and it's the same caliber as the gun used to kill Grace. I'm on my way to the lab now to test it."

* * *

Catherine returned from the lab to find Sara talking to Warrick and Nick in the break room. "The gun's a match," she said, at Sara's questioning look. "We've got her. How's your case, guys?"

"Closed," Warrick reported happily. "The kid who did it ran to his aunt's house in New York, but NYPD found him and he's on his way back."

"What could his motive possibly have been?" Sara asked, shaking her head.

Nick shrugged. "That's for the DA to decide. But from what I know, he seems anti-social, withdrawn. Everyone says, 'he seemed like such a nice guy.'"

"God, that's awful."

"Hey, Grissom," Warrick greeted as his supervisor walked in. Grissom nodded distractedly and Warrick turned back to Sara. "What about your murder/suicide?"

"Double homicide, actually. Jealous ex-girlfriend."

"Wow, what did he do to her?" Nick mused.

"Well," Catherine said, "_She _dumped her girlfriend of several years and got engaged to a man."

"Wasn't expecting that," muttered Warrick.

There was a knock on the open door. "Excuse me." Darcie McCohen stood in the doorway looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"Darcie," Nick greeted, standing up. "The case against Pat's boyfriend is coming together. He won't get away with the abuse."

Darcie nodded. "Yes, an officer called to tell me. Thank you for working on her case." She took a deep breath. "But that's not why I'm here. I need to talk to Mr. Grissom."

Grissom, who had been surreptitiously studying the girl since she came in, snapped to attention.

Nick frowned. "Alright…"

"In private," Darcie added firmly.

The other CSI's glanced at each other and at Grissom, then got up and left. Grissom stood awkwardly. "Would you, uh, like a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," Darcie said, sitting down.

Grissom poured her coffee and sat down as well, and the two looked at each other in awkward silence for a minute.

* * *

The other CSI's had left the room, but Nick hovered nearby. When Darcie came into the break room, something had clicked in his mind. The picture Grissom had in his office had the same background as the one he had studied so carefully on Darcie's desk. And Grissom had been acting so strange lately. What _was _the connection between those two?

* * *

In the break room, Darcie pushed her wavy brown hair away from her face. Grissom remembered that gesture, had once known it so well.

"_Julie?" She'd said she was on her way home, and she should be here by now, but the apartment was so dark, so quiet. "Julie?!" Panic he hadn't known was there crept into his voice. _

"_I'm right here, Gil," she said, stepping around the corner, brushing the hair from her face. "What is it? What's wrong?" _

_He sighed. "It was a hard day at work." Julie wrapped him in a hug and waited. "She looked like you, Jules. So much like you." _

"_I know it's hard, Gil… but try to think of how much you're helping her family…"_

"_I never want to lose you, Julie. I love you."_

"_I love you, too."_

Darcie sighed, bringing Grissom back to the present. "Ever since I was about 12, I've asked every man I've met if he's ruined someone's life. It drove my mother crazy, but she couldn't get me to stop because she wouldn't give me the answer I was looking for. I wanted to know who my father was – the man who had left me before I was born, the man who so hurt my mother that she pretended not to know his name."

"_Pregnant?" He couldn't believe it. It wasn't possible. Well, it was _possible, _but it would ruin all their plans! They still had another year of school left; they couldn't start a family now, they'd never survive. To leave school now, throw all this away, to work flipping burgers and watch their child suffer in a family without the means to succeed in this world. _

"_Gil, please, say something," Julie begged with tears in her eyes._

_After a long silence, he said, "I'm not ready for this."_

"I don't know if you're familiar with Google, Mr. Grissom, but it's an amazing thing."

The abrupt topic change was disorienting.

"You can find out a lot about someone when you Google them – newspaper articles mentioning them, awards they've won, where they went to school.

"What I'm telling you, Mr. Grissom, is that I know. I don't have to ask about ruined lives anymore because I have the answer I've been searching for."

"_If you leave now, Gil, I don't ever want to see you again! If you l-leave me, I never want to hear from you again! You'll be out of my life forever – out of your baby's life! D-do you hear me? G-Gil… please…" Julie sank to the floor, sobbing, her rage gone. _

_He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, tell her that it would be alright – tell her that together, they would make it through. But the doorknob was already in his hand, and he did the easy thing, the cowardly thing; he turned the knob and walked out on the only person he ever loved. _

"You seem to be taking this harder than I am." Darcie studied Grissom's tight face and gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Look, it's obvious this whole personal-relationship thing isn't really your strong suit. I just… thought you should know."

Darcie stood up and started to leave, but turned back. "Don't flatter yourself – you didn't ruin our lives. Things would've been different… but then _I _would be different. And I like who I am. You messed up, big time, but you can't change the past. Stop worrying about it. We're fine."

And she walked out of the room.

Grissom took a deep breath, past and present colliding in his mind. Nick popped his head in and said, "Griss? What was that about?"

Grissom shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Just something I should have done a long time ago. Excuse me," he said, hurrying into the hall.

"Darcie!" Grissom called down the hall. Darcie stopped and turned. "Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?" Grissom asked.

"Sure," Darcie said slowly, "that sounds nice."

_The End._


End file.
